


Whatever It Takes

by Kiki0_0



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, BothOfThem, CauseI'mAwful, Dark, Dean Winchester Whump, Early in Canon, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, FightOrDie, Fights, Fist Fights, HowDoesOneTag?, Hurt, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, LikeReallyHurt, M/M, Non-Consensual, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sam Winchester Whump, Self-Sacrificing Winchesters (Supernatural), Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 19:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14984330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiki0_0/pseuds/Kiki0_0
Summary: When a hunter goes missing, nobody thinks anything of it. No bodies are ever retrieved and vengeance can rarely be sought. Sometimes, however, one can only wonder if those that go missing are dead. What if something else had happened? Something that no one would ever suspect.This is a story about just how far the Winchester brothers will go to keep each other safe. It is about sacrifice, love, suffering, recovery, and just about everything in-between.WARNING: Dark. Adult content. Heed the tags, my friends.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooo,
> 
> I'm alive! (Haha, only on the outside) Aaaaaaaand...I'M WRITING AGAIN! Tah dah!
> 
> Yeah... it's really late right now, and I am strangely hyper.
> 
> So I promise I am not abandoning "He Ain't Heavy." Not at all. However, I needed to write a start to a new story idea that I had that I'm pretty excited about. However, now that I've written a starting point, it seems reaaaaaaal slow and poorly written. I may be out of practice...
> 
> Oh well. Here it is. Lmk what you think!

Sometimes hunts were hard to find. However, right now there didn’t seem to be enough hunters around to manage all unnatural sightings recently.

“It’s like they aren’t even trying to make it seem natural. I mean, come on. Death by trees? Someone get Geddy Lee on the phone; I think he might have your whole ESP thing going on too.”

Sam proceeded not to grace Dean’s comment with a reply. Rather, he simply responded with one of his famous bitch-faces.

“What have we all got so far?” Dean asked in lieu of commenting on Sam’s lack of sense of humour.

“Well, there is certainly an influx of tree-related things with motive to kill. I mean, let’s be honest, they have good reason. But yeah, it all seems to boil down to dryads.”

“Dryads? As in, like, hot tree ladies?”

“Good God, Dean. Do you even have a filter?”

“Yeah. You should hear the things I don’t say, man. Whew…” Dean ‘s eyebrows raised and he blew out a breath of air that ended in a whistle. Sam shook his head and chuckled. “Anyhow, you were saying something about tree ladies?”

“According to most mythology, dryads are typically reserved and shy. However, they are said to be tied to their trees and-”

Dean cut him off. “So we just need to cut the tree down. I get it.”

“As usual, it’s not that easy.” Sam picked up another book from the bedside table. “The type of dryad depends on the type of tree. It could be anything, and we can’t exactly go cutting down every forest around. This is Oregon, Dean. Lots of forests.” Dean grumbled something about his sass levels that Sam didn’t care to hear before he continued on. “That’s still not all of it. Says here they are believed to punish mortal beings who harm trees because it can kill dryads.”

Dean stood and walked to the other side of their motel room, where newspaper articles from various different years were taped to the wall. He gestured to an article that read _Man Dies of Lack of Oxygen in Local Hiking Trail_. “So you think these were punishments of some sort?”

“Yeah. The hiker who died? He was a developer in charge of taking down a nearby forest for a new apartment complex. The bones found tangled in tree roots in 1990? That guy was suspected of arson. He was believed to be the one that started the forest fire weeks before his disappearance. The man that was found impaled by a branch was-”

Dean cut him off as he walked back to the table with one of the articles.“ A local lawyer. Let me guess: not very environmentally friendly?”

“Guess not. I can only assume the rest of the deaths fit the profile. Most of them date back too long. Apparently dryads are only angered by the large changes to their forests. Or else I would think there would be more deaths.”

They were both thinking the same thing, so it was left unsaid. They both knew that their job could suck at times. This was one of those times: when they almost sympathized with  
the creature and could understand why it did what it did -- when they didn’t want to kill it. Neither of them would particularly enjoy this hunt.

“So how to we find the specific tree?” Dean asked as he took a swig of his beer. It was too late to do anything tonight, so he figured he might as well enjoy a drink.

“Every culture has its own form of a dryad. But in most cases, it seems that if the dryad can leave its tree at all, she has to stay within a certain radius of her tree. Since they have no abilities that would allow them to impale a man without leaving their tree, I think it is fair to assume this one can leave. However-”

“So what you're saying is that you have no idea how to find the tree. I’ll call Bobby.”

“Would you stop cutting me off?”

“Only when you stop taking.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.” 

* * *

 

Two men stood and one lay down.

“Sir, it appears we’ve lost our last hunter,” one of the standing men spoke.

“No, I thought he was just taking a nap with a knife in his chest. I would have never come to the conclusion that he was dead without your assistance. Thank you so much for that. Gold star for you.” A direct smack to the back of the head was delivered as this last sentence was spoken.

The man cowered back and rubbed his head. “Sorry, sir. I will send out someone to fetch another right away.”

“Good. See to it that the next one fares better than this. Don’t bring me any weaklings. I need someone strong, hardy, _reliable_.”

“Yes, sir. I will send men out immediately.”

“Good. See to it that I am not disappointed.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello,
> 
> Been a bit, but I have an actual plan for once in my life. This story is all mapped out in my head for the first time ever. 
> 
> But the problem is, I'm not sure if anyone is really interested in it. It is going to get pretty dark. There will be some blood and gore, non-con, dub-con, and emotional manipulation in this story. 
> 
> This is a story about just how far the Winchester brothers will go to keep each other safe. It is about sacrifice and love and suffering and recovery. 
> 
> Idk honestly. So please let me know if this is even worth it at all.

Dean did not think “waking up” properly described what he was feeling. No, this was more like “violently being ripped from his peaceful unconsciousness without his consent thank you very much.” Fuck, his head _hurt_ . Scratch that; his _everything_ hurt. Breathing was difficult as he tried to think of what the hell had happened the previous night. All he could remember was calling Bobby and listening to him talk about a spell they could use to track down which tree the dryad was tied to. What had happened after that? Dean thought the spell had gone fine. It was fairly easy, overall. They had just followed the tracking spell to the tree and then...black.

 

Dean’s attempts at retracing his steps were interrupted by a groan.

 

“Sam? Sam, that you?” He could hear whispering somewhere close by, but received no response. “Who the hell is there?” Dean finally managed to pry his eyes open and groaned at the wave of nausea that followed. Was he concussed? God, he hoped not. Concussions were a bitch, especially in their line of business.

 

Slowly but surely, the room began to come into focus. It was dimly lit, for which Dean was grateful, but he could still make out his surroundings. It looked like a dumpy clinic of some sort. There was only one other person in the room. Late fifties and balding.

 

“Don’t try to sit up. It will only make things worse,” was all the man said when he saw that Dean was conscious.

 

“You a doctor?” Dean winced at the rough sound of his own voice and rubbed at his throat. He thanked the man as he handed him a glass of water.

 

“Yes. You’ve been out for a few hours now. Not that that is much of a surprise. You did withstand quite an extensive beating.” The doctor was cold, detached. He seemed to fit right in with the clinic around him. God, why did Sam even bother to bring him to a clinic if it was this dumpy?

 

“I assume you want to know a bit about your wounds. Well-”

 

“Wait,” Dean interjected. He didn’t really care to hear about bruised ribs and possible concussion. He could already feel it. It was his body, after all. And it didn’t seem like the clinic was going to give him any painkillers or anything so he had only one thing on his mind: find Sam and get the hell out of dodge. “The guy that brought me in. You know -- tall, skinny, stupid hair. Where is he?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“The guy that brought me here? Where is he?”

 

“Do you know where you are exactly?” The doctor seemed genuinely confused for a moment. It was the first emotion Dean had seen on his fact thus far. It was then a surprise when a few moments later, the door to the clinic was thrown open and complete and utter fear flickered across the doctor’s face before it went completely blank once again.

 

“You done with this one? You got a line up, doc,” barked the burly intruder.

 

“Of course. Send the next one in.” The doctor stepped back with his clipboard and tore a piece of paper from it. “Ribs and head are in rough shape. His memory seems mildly compromised, but not permanently. He does not seem to know where he is or who we are. Otherwise, severe contusions on the torso and a few lacerations on his limbs. He will be fine in a few days.”

 

The intruder gave no response except a disinterested grunt before he grabbed the arm of, a now standing, Dean Winchester and roughly handcuffed his hands behind his back despite Dean beginning to struggle.

 

“Come on, fiesty. Got to show you your new room,” the man growled under his breath.

 

“What the hell is going on?” Dean struggled against the grip holding him in place, but it did little to nothing. The intruder had both a good grip and lots of experience. “Where’s my brother, you bastards?”

 

The guard gave no answer and ushered Dean through the clinic doors. Through the doors was a long, wide hallway of sorts. As he was pushed through various corridors, Dean saw multiple rooms that branched off the hallways. There were large windows that looked into rooms filled with weights and various exercise equipment, rooms with lots of books with some sort of ring in the centre that resembled a boxing ring in a strange way, and rooms with actual boxing rings and jousting rings and many other sorts of weaponry.

 

Just where the hell was he exactly?

 

Eventually, windows and doors turned into bars, as the large hallway branched off into one of many narrow hallways hidden behind armed doors. Through those doors, nothing lined the walls but prison cells of sorts. Some were open; some were closed. All of them were occupied.

 

And though Dean recognized the occupants, they were not human.

 

Werewolves, vampires, ghosts, reapers, djinn, black dogs -- you name it, and it was there. Some of the creatures gnawed at the bars or reached out to try and claw at those who walked by. Those creatures were locked up. Other just sat there. Some grinned as they saw Dean go by.

 

“Winchester,” some hissed.

 

“Hunter,” others growled, malice and hatred in their voices.

 

And some... Some just licked their lips as their stomachs growled in anticipation. It had been too long since they had last seen a human in their midst.

 

The apparent guard of sorts shoved Dean against the bars of one cage near the far end of the corridor before unlocking the cell and ungracefully throwing Dean within and locking it once again. Then he began to leave.

 

“Wait a minute! Where am I? Where the hell is my brother?” Dean shouted after him.

 

The guard turned back to him and sneered. “Your brother? No clue. But judging by his pretty face I could take a guess if you’d like.” He grinned. “And you? You’re in your new home, where you’ll spend the rest of your life. However long that life will be is up to you. Survival of the fittest.” With that, he turned and walked away. Dean shouted after him, but he disappeared down the corridor without another word, leaving Dean with nothing but separation anxiety and the sounds of his new neighbours echoing off the walls.

 

In half an hour, Dean had managed to free his wrists of the cuffs binding them.

 

In an hour, Dean had begun to yell curses and questions once again.

 

In an hour and a half, Dean began to lose his voice, so he decided to remain quiet for the next while.

 

In two hours, footsteps were finally heard near Dean’s cage. Dean had heard creatures coming and going off and on in the past couple hours. Some went on their own, some accompanied by others, and some cuffed and dragged out by guards. And now, finally, a guard had come for him.

 

“Give me any trouble, and you’ll regret it, hunter,” was all the new, also burly, man said as he opened the cage.

 

Seriously, where do they find these guys? 1-800-EVIL-HENCHMEN? God knew Dean wouldn’t be surprised at this point. What would the ad look like? _“Need someone with a tendency for cruelty that really won’t care what your evil plans are so long as they get to be a complete douchebag? You got it! Need burly, extra burly, or unreasonably burly? We got all three!”_ Dean snorted as the guard grabbed a hold of his arm.

 

The guard looked briefly at the abandoned cuffs on the floor and grunted out, “Trouble maker,” before picking them up once again. Dean took this as his opportunity. He pushed the kneeling guard to the floor and gave a solid kick to his head before taking off down the cage-covered corridor.

 

Now wasn’t that fun to say?

 

Dean sprinted at full speed, turning down the halls that he remembered travelling earlier that day, turning off course only when there was a guard in the way. He travelled down various hallways. He tried to keep track of where he all went, but it was impossible to do so while also trying to avoid being caught. Soon enough he hadn’t the slightest clue where he was. But he kept running. He didn’t know what awaited him if he were to stop, so he had to just keep going until he found _something._ And hopefully that something would be Sam.

 

Running hurt like hell. His lungs were burning, his limbs were aching, and his ribs were shooting jolts of pain throughout his body. He knew he was running out of steam all too quickly. He tried to pace himself, but it was impossible to do so without getting caught.

 

Eventually, he managed to find a thick armed door identical to the one he had gone through earlier. The one he hoped would lead him back to the larger corridor so he could continue to search for Sam. However, the door was obviously locked and sealed well enough that there was no way Dean was getting through it. There was some kind of scanner to the right side of the door and Dean hadn’t been able to see how the guard had opened the door before, as the guard had been behind him the whole time, holding his handcuffs and manhandling him through the halls.

 

He was stuck. He had no way through the door and the guards were quickly closing in behind him. He tried to kick at the door, but all it did was hurt his ribs.

 

The guards closed in behind him, some huffing and others simply looking furious and excited to dole out some punishments. However, before they managed to close in on Dean, the door behind him opened.

 

“Well then,” a low, smooth voice called. “I think it’s about time we had a little chat.” Dean turned to see who had spoke and whether or not he could get around him and through the hallway behind him. The man was average in height, with short black hair and, yet again, firm muscles. He had a look on his face that managed to be amused, disinterested, impatient, and even a little excited all at once.

 

“I was waiting for one of my men to bring you so that I may finally meet you in person. However, I must say, I do hate waiting. You brother doesn’t seem overly fond of it either. Would you like to come see him?”

 

Dean was frozen. As were the guards, it seemed. All the men behind him no longer advanced and rather stood there while this new guy called all the shots. Clearly he had superiority here. And Dean? Dean didn’t seem to have a choice either way at the moment.

 

“No,” he snarked. “I was just really hyper and wanted to go for a jog. Of fucking course I want to go see him.”

 

“Attitude. Not sure I’m a fan of that, but we’ll see how it plays out.” The man turned on his heel and began to walk back through the door. “Come along. Don’t want to keep him waiting, do we?”

 

And so Dean went with him. The guards behind him dispersed and went their separate ways to resume their jobs. Dean sorted through thoughts of escape and plans on how to overthrow the man walking beside him, but nothing good came to mind. He needed Sam. That was step one. And this guy, if he was telling the truth, was going to help him do exactly that. Only after he had Sam with him could he begin making a properly informed escape plan.

 

They walked through the wide corridor and made several turns before the man spoke again. “What, may I ask, is your name?”

 

Dean didn’t answer at first, debating what to say for a moment. He then settled for a simple “fuck you” due to lack of sleep hindering his creativity at the moment. The man laughed in return, low and smooth.

 

“You’re gonna be fun, aren’t you? I bet you have a lot of anger issues that I can use. I can see it in your eyes; you are a fighter. I wouldn’t even be surprised if you enjoy your stay here. Come along. In here now.”

 

They entered an elevator that took them to a much higher level of the building. The new floor took Dean for a surprise. Where the lower floor was dark and prison-like, this floor was the complete opposite. It looked like some kind of fancy hotel even. There were large carpets and lavish colours. It looked like a lobby with hallways reaching outwards in different directions. The man with him ushered him through multiple hallways with all kinds of locks on the doors leading into them: all of which the man had some form of key or code for each time.

 

Eventually, they were in some kind of balcony of sorts, looking down into an enormous room. There were screens all around the room they showed different areas of the lower dome of sorts. Down below was some kind of arena. He and the man from before were the only ones in the observation deck.

 

And Dean suddenly had a bad feeling about where he thought this was going.

 

The man poured himself a glass of wine from one of the small chillers in the room. “Neat, is it not?” He asked, crossing over to where Dean stood. “It is over ten miles in diameter -- made to encourage fights of a longer duration. I think I will have you fight in it often. More often, however, I will have you fight in the smaller rings. One-on-one and such.” He took another sip and wrinkled his nose in satisfaction before setting the glass down.

 

“Fights? You idiotic psychopaths are running some kind of ‘hunger-games’ style supernatural arena here? Do you know how fucking dangerous those creatures are?”

 

“I am fully aware; thank you very much. Are _you_ aware just how much people will pay to watch these fights?” He paused and, hearing no answer, continued on. “That’s what I had thought. People will pay top dollar to watch and place their bets on which creature will win. Vampire? Werewolf?” He paused again. “Hunter, maybe?”

 

“You are a sick piece of shit. What have you done with my brother?”

 

“Tell me your names and I’ll tell you where he is. Fair?”

 

Dean was flabbergasted. Why the hell did he want to know their names so badly? In the end, his fear for Sam was greater than his pride and satisfaction over denying this man something he wanted.

 

“Dean. My name is Dean,” he grated out.

 

“Dean… Lovely. And your brother?” He was all smiles and charm it seemed. It made Dean want to punch him out. If it weren’t for all the security he’s been seeing around the place, he would.

 

“Sam. Now where is he?”

 

“Beautiful. And he is right here.” He gestured to the arena behind them then to a TV on the right. “Take a look.”

 

And there, on the TV, was Sam. He was panting and Dean could see numerous cuts and bruises on his exposed chest. He held in his hands an ax and was currently looking every which way, trying to locate any more attackers that may be around.

 

“Get him out of there right now. I swear to God…”

 

“What power do you hold right now exactly? Last time I checked it was absolutely none,” he interjected.

 

Dean was done. Absolutely done with this jackass. “What the hell do you want from us, huh?” he shouted. “And how the hell did we even get here?”

 

“Let’s start with the second question, shall we?” He grinned and sat on one of the many plush sofas in the room. “You got here because I have many connections, both human and supernatural. Some creatures are more than willing to give us monthly sacrifices in return for their own safety. And you, my dear friend, happened upon a dryad that I had struck a deal with. I had no use for her, and was planning on disposing of her. Instead, however, I decided to use her a bait. I needed a new hunter, and she wanted to survive. It worked out for both of us.

 

“And for why you are here. Well, my last hunter was a bit of a disappointment and, well, _passed away_. That left me without a hunter. I couldn’t have that. The crowds always absolutely adore the hunters and want to see more of them. I guess it brings them hope that we truly are the strongest species or something. And I need you to fight. So, I thought maybe we could - oh, dear! Looks like Sammy is in trouble…”

 

Dean turned quickly, jarring his ribs in the process, to see Sam fighting off a vampire on the screen. The vampire lunged at him, biting his right arm, jerking it’s head left and right like a dog playing tug-of-war to more thoroughly shred the flesh. Sam cried out briefly and tossed the ax to his left hand while trying to kick the vampire off of himself. He swung the ax wildly and blood sprayed the scene around them. It took several chops to the shoulder and then to the neck to get the vampire to release his arm. Once he had done that, Sam quickly and efficiently chopped the head off of the vamp.

 

“Lots of blood, I see,” the man remarked casually. “That is going to attract the others even more. I do think he will survive this one, though. He’s tough.”

 

Dean lunged and pinned the man to the ground with his hands around his neck. “Get him out of there now.” I swear to God. Get him out or I will kill you right now.” He tightened his grip to further prove his point.

 

Several guards flooded the room and tore Dean off of the man. Dean fought back with no mercy but was greatly outnumbered and eventually had to give in. The man stood up.

 

“Now that was rather rude,” he said with a rough voice from Dean’s strong grip as he dusted off his clothing and smoothed any wrinkles he saw. “And I was going to let you trade places with him, but now I have thought better of it. Drabek, take this young man back to his cell please.”

 

The large guard who had retrieved him from the medical bay earlier stepped forwards and cuffed a struggling Dean’s hands.

 

“Wait! Let me switch with him. He’s injured. Please,” Dean called as he was taken from the room. It was too late, however, the man had clearly made up his mind. “You bastard! Get him out of there!”

 

The door shut and Dean was forced through many doors and halls and elevators until he was back in the same cell as before. This time, however, he wasn’t so sure about whether he was going to see Sam again or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I have this whole plan and it is going to be a hard road for the brothers. Anyone interested in me continuing to post it or nah?
> 
> Please let me know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting! Comments make me write. It is a proven fact now! :)

It had been a day since Sam had last seen his brother and he was petrified for him. 

 

They had been seeking out the tree connected to the malignant dryad in Oregon and had finally found it. They were just getting everything ready so that one of them could begin to chop the tree down while the other defended against the dryad, as she was sure to attack soon, when they heard a twig snap nearby. As far as they knew, that was not the dryad making that noise. Before Sam could react fully, he felt a sharp pain in his side and saw a dart jutting out of his shirt with a small amount of blood staining his shirt. He remembered trying to fight back against the sudden onslaught of a half a dozen men with Dean at his side, but he was too weak to do much due to whatever they had shot him with. Dean had dodged three more darts and was fighting back with vigor. The last thing Sam had heard before he hit the ground was Dean calling his name. The last thing he saw was five of the men ganging up on Dean to take him down. And then… black. 

 

Sam had awoken in a small cell and was soon after visited by a man with short black hair and an air of superiority, accompanied an overly large, beefy man that just screamed  _ ‘evil henchman.’  _ He was told what was expected of him and what the punishment would be if he were to disobey. It seemed he and Dean had fallen for some kind of a trap set by these crazies. They were in some kind of fight ring with members of all species. Humans, animals, supernatural… everything. It was a fight to the death sometimes and other times just a fight until only one fighter was left standing on their own feet. 

 

“You have a choice now,” the dark-haired man had said. “You get to pick which one of you fights first.” The man smiled and showed him a small tablet. The screen was obviously showing some kind of security footage of a dumpy medical bay of sorts. On the bed, however, was none other than Dean. Unconscious. Beaten. Bruised. Alone.

 

“You can let Dean fight the first battle, or you can. Choose wisely.” 

 

Sam sneered at the man. It was a test and he knew it. The man wanted to see how close the two brothers were, what their relationship was exactly. However, Sam wasn’t about to disappoint the man. He couldn’t let Dean fight in his condition. There was no way in hell that was going to happen on his watch. Dean may be the better fighter, the better hunter, and the better soldier of the two of them, but Sam could hold his own and he loved his brother enough to do his best to shield him from any further pain. He would fight and he was going to make sure he lived to see his brother again. 

 

The burly man, Drabek apparently, dragged him through numerous corridors until he eventually shoved him into a starting pen on the edge of a giant arena. 

 

“Fight to the death today, kid. Last thing surviving make it back home for dinner.” He moved closer and Sam backed up until he was against the far wall with no escape. The man grabbed his face. “Try not to ruin your pretty face today. I would hate to lose it before we get the chance to have any fun together.” 

 

Sam tried to yank himself free of the man’s grip but was stuck. The man seemed to enjoy his inability to fight back and stayed long enough to make Sam feel more than uncomfortable before he patted his cheek and backed up slightly. Before Sam could even begin to react the man slipped a knife from one of his many holsters and sliced down the front of his t-shirt, just barely missing his chest.

 

“What the fuck-” Sam began but was quickly backhanded before he could continue. Sam was stunned by the hit for a short moment but the man wasted no time and tore the shirt fully off of him.

 

“The crowd does love some eye candy now and then and it tends to be hard to find most of the time. And you… Well you just look too delicious to hide from them.” The man laughed and left the room. Sam was alone when he finally pulled himself together once again.

 

Various pens identical to his own lined the edges of a large arena and once Sam had shook his head clear of the man’s implications and the fact that he was now without even a shirt he could hear noises coming from all around him. He could hear hissing, scratching, growling, crying, and whimpering. Creatures of all kinds around him were preparing themselves to either fight or die. 

 

Sam took a look at what he could see of the arena. According to Drabek, there were supposed to be hidden weaponry and medical supplies around for the fighters to find and battle over. However, Drabek had also mentioned that going for these supplies was a sure fire way to get caught in a bloodbath... unless that was what he was looking for. 

 

The sound of a siren could be heard suddenly and the wall behind him pushed forwards until it had Sam and all the others in the surrounding pens pinned up against the bars to the arena, which were slowly opening. Soon enough, all of the fighters were pushed into the ring. The blood began very soon after.

 

And Sam… Well, Sam was petrified.

 

But if there was one thing Sam was familiar with, it was fighting. He fought all the time. He fought with his father since he was young. As a kid, he fought to be able to go to school whenever he could. He fought against hunting, and he fought evil while hunting. He fought to be able to go to college. He fought evil for a living. He fought to keep Dean safe and in his life. He fought to get up every morning knowing what awaited him each day.

 

He fought to survive every single day of his life. And this was no different. He had to survive. He had to make it back to Dean.

 

So he fought once again.

 

He tried to stick to the quieter areas within the ring and made sure not to engage in any fights so long as he could avoid it. The creatures around him all appeared to be vampires of sorts and tore one another apart all around him. He witnessed one such creature break the neck of another before ripping the head clean with its bare hands within the first minute of the match. It’s tongue then lapped at the headless neck with vigor as yet another creature of sorts that Sam could only see as the small child it took the appearance of tore a chunk of flesh off the arm of the other with its razor sharp teeth while it was distracted. 

 

Blood pooled on the ground amd sprayed Sam’s face as he ran through the bloodbath around him. Warm, wet chunks of flesh, swinging weapons, flying stones, and screams of pain and rage hit Sam from all sides. He felt something sharp slice through his right arm but did not stop to assess the damage. 

 

Only once the noises around him seemed to die down and he felt he could no longer breathe did Sam finally stop for a moment. His arm was bleeding sluggishly, trickles of red liquid tickling his forearm and fingers from the large gash on his bicep. The cut looked like it could use a few stitches, but Sam could do nothing but ignore it for now. He had nothing to even use as a bandage, seeing as he was shirtless too. 

 

He didn’t stop for long before he realized why it had gone quiet in the arena. Apparently, while he was  searching for a good spot to stay and reserve some of his energy for the inevitable fights to come, the commotion around him had died down with many of his opponents and the majority of the remaining were turned to him. The gaping wound on his arm was the centre of attention in the arena. 

 

He didn’t manage to recover from this discovery before he heard a sound too close by for comfort. He made the mistake of whipping his head around to locate the cause of the noise. Next thing he knew the reason for the noise had tackled him to the ground. Whatever it was had an ax and was swung it at his neck; Sam barely managed to dodge the sharp blade and, using all his strength, he shoved the creature to the side. He grabbed the hand holding the ax with both of his own hands and tried to pry the weapon free to no avail. The creature hissed and bit at Sam’s wrists, causing him to cry out. In his panic, Sam used his grip on the creature’s hand and utilized the weapon while it still held it in its own grip. He couldn’t reach the neck with his odd grip, so he sent the ax slicing into the creature’s abdomen. It howled in pain. Sam didn’t wait to see if it was enough to kill it. He yanked the ax free of it’s stomach, ignoring the cry and wet sound of flesh releasing the blade, and hacked the head off of the creature. 

 

Sam heard a gunshot far in the distance but did not stop long enough to realize that it meant that he had a chance of finding a gun somewhere if he was lucky. Another vampire came at him but was tackled to the side and torn open by another predator. 

 

“Mine,” it hissed. 

 

The other vampire cried out and tried scrambling away but the other was larger and clear;y stronger. It tore open the neck of its prey with its teeth and greedily drank as much as it could as the blood spurted out in rivers.

 

Sam did not hesitate and used his newly retrieved ax to take it’s head off in two swings. 

 

He searched both bodies and found only a small knife to add to his collection of weaponry. He took it.

 

He stared at his latest victim. He didn’t want to kill the child-like creature that attacked him next. He had no choice though. 

 

And that summed up this whole situation just perfectly. 

 

He had no choice. 

 

When he snapped himself out of it three more were coming for him. A nest, he figured. Might even have been together before they got taken here. Hell, maybe there was more of them once. Sam didn’t want to think about it and he didn’t have time to anyhow. 

 

He didn’t have time to think about the fact that he could now sympathize with these creatures. About how they might be grieving the loss of friends and family. About how they were all in the same position now.

 

They had no choice. 

 

So he did what he had to, he told himself. They came after him. He couldn’t let himself die before he ensured Dean was safe. 

 

Needless he say he was very excited when he finally spotted a burlap sack hanging from a hook on one of the edges of the spherical arena nearby. Perhaps it would contain something more effective than a dulled axe that took multiple hits to take a head off. Perhaps it would contain something more merciful, less painful. 

 

However, it seemed he wasn’t the only one who saw it. Two creatures that Sam remembered fighting one another earlier seemed to have formed an alliance of sorts, as they stood side-by-side without any attempts to attack one another as they both headed towards the bag.

 

Sam and the two seemed to notice each other at the same time. It was bloody. Sam felt claws slice through his back as he fought off the creature attempting to attack him from the front.  _ Since when did vampires have claws? _ He thought idly as he fought. He swung his ax wildly, both creatures dodging his attacks with an unnatural speed. He grabbed the knife from his pocket and thrust it between the ribs of one, ignoring the high-pitched cry it emitted. The other seemed shocked by the turn of events and retreated. Sam made no attempt to chase it.

 

He felt disgusting. Not only because he was covered in blood and guts but because he was no better than anything here. He was a creature with no other goal than to kill.  _ No _ , he thought to himself.  _ Survive. I only want to survive. Not to kill. _

 

It didn’t help. He heard the creature on the ground moan in pain. He ended it’s misery quickly. He didn’t want it to suffer.

 

The bag was empty. Whatever it once contained was long gone. And Sam felt his hope failing him. He stood there for a moment, panting, trying not to give up, trying not to cry. He felt so tired. How long had it been? A day? An hour? He had no clue at this point and the fact that he had yet to see any form of clock since he and Dean were taken only disoriented him more. The lights were artificial and gave him no hint at how long he had been in this hell-hole. 

 

A vampire lunged at him, crazed and bloodthirsty. It went for his already injured right arm, sinking it’s teeth into him. Sam dropped the ax in shock. It sucked at his blood with vigor, like it was dying of thirst. He swung his arm at the side of the arena, trying to dislodge the leech-like creature but it was no use. The creature jerked it’s head left to right, increasing the blood flow and opening wider the wounds there. It made noises of pleasure as it drank that would haunt Sam for weeks to come. Sam grabbed the ax with his left hand and hacked and kicked at the creature until it eventually released him. It took only a few more swings to ensure the vampire was dead after that. It’s head rolled away from it’s body and blood spurted onto the ground. 

 

Sam’s arm was a mess. He tore the shirt off of the headless body and wrapped the cut as best as he could. His thoughts were filled with diseases he could get from the dirt and other blood on the shirt but he needed to stop the profuse bleeding. He then ripped up the burlap sack and used it as a sling to support the injured limb. He did his best but he had little time before another creature followed the scent of human blood right to him.

 

The vampire had nothing of use on it. But that did not stop it from trying. It had its fangs and that was all it needed really. It could kill a man with no trouble. But Sam was not any man. He was a hunter. And hunters took a lot more than one vampire to take them down. Sam disposed of its life quickly and efficiently. The vampire was too bloodthirsty to think straight anyways. It didn’t stand a chance from the beginning. 

 

Sam searched the first two bodies to no avail as he saw three more vampires coming his way. He knew a dulled axe might not be enough to take all three at once. 

 

“It’s human!” cried one of the advancing creatures. The declaration was followed by elated smiles as the ran faster towards him.

 

He searched the body of the last vampire and could have cried in victory when he found a small silver dagger hidden in the waistband of it’s pants. Sam took the knife and examined it. It was invaluable, really. It was exactly what he needed to kill a number of creatures. 

 

It proved invaluable in taking down the next three that came for his blood. 

 

He heard the sound of something crying out nearby, breaking him from his thoughts. He didn’t even look. He simply ran in the opposite direction of the noise. 

 

“Final three!” cried an announcer’s voice. Funny, Sam hadn’t noticed it before.

 

He felt tired but chose not to dwell on it. He knew it was mostly blood loss and that focussing on it would cause his adrenaline to crash. He couldn’t afford that happening. Not when he was so close. 

 

So close to winning?

 

No.

 

So close to Dean. 

 

_ Two more to go. _

 

One body fell. It had a silver dagger thrust through its neck. Sam didn’t bother trying to pull it out again. 

 

The crowd admired the way he had used the vampires own momentum to take it down so efficiently. They loved the blood. 

 

“Final two!”

 

A second body had a lot of blood in its mouth. It too was determined to make it out of here alive once. But it became too focussed on the blood.  _ Oh god, the blood. It tasted so good.  _ Once it started it couldn’t stop. It needed more. More. More. 

 

Then none. Then black. It didn’t pay attention to the fact that the human was still conscious. It could still lift it’s arms. It still had an axe within its reach.

 

When the alarm eventually blared, Sam didn’t know what to feel. Didn’t know what to think. 

 

He was thrown back inside his starting pen. 

 

Crowds came to see him; some of them spoke to him. Sam didn’t hear a thing. Didn’t want to. He just wanted Dean. Dean made things better. Dean would know what to do. Dean would be able to tell him how to feel. 

 

Dean would fix this. Dean could fix him. He always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Whatcha think? I don't know why, but I feel extremely unsatisfied with this chapter for some reason... Thoughts?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait. Been a bit crazy lately. This is short, but I wanted to get something up while I was inspired. 
> 
> I kept wanting to write more on this story but just found I hated the direction it went. I wanted this to be more of a gladiator style fighting ring story but I ended up going Hunger Games style. So I eventually just backtracked and re-wrote a whole bunch. Chapter 2 and 3 are now different, so I highly suggest re-reading these or else future chapters could be very confusing. 
> 
> I'm sorry if the alterations disappoint anybody, but I have a whole outline that I strayed from and have now decided to follow in order to save my sanity.
> 
> Hope you like it!

Dean insisted that Sam had done nothing wrong. 

 

Sam knew otherwise. He was a monster; he was no different than what they hunted. He even felt bad for them. He was worse, after all.

 

“Sam, you did what you had to to survive. And thank God that you did because the alternative isn’t a possibility, okay?” Dean insisted. They had been at it for almost half an hour. This was exhausting the both of them.

 

It exhausted Sam the most. Enough for him to drop it. To just let Dean’s words in -- let them comfort him without fighting it. He wasn’t worthy of this, but he needed it. He needed it to survive. Even if he didn’t deserve to.

 

“I believe that you believe that Dean,” Sam spoke as Dean sighed and rubbed his hand over the scruff that had grown there. “And for now, I’ll try to as well.” 

 

It was enough for both of them.

 

“Let me see your arm,” Dean insisted. It seemed to be the worst of the damage. It was bandaged up, but Dean had experienced the impersonal and rough treatment that the patients get in the medical ward and wanted to see for himself that Sam was going to be alright. 

 

The wounds were large. But the stitching was neat and well done. The bandaging was a bit rough, but functional overall. It was satisfactory. 

 

“You done?” Sam quirked an eyebrow. Dean was such a mother sometimes. Sam would never admit it, but it made him feel loved, like he mattered.

 

“Shut up. You’ll live.” It was meant to be about the mother-henning. But it they both heard it as being about the wounds too. Sam would live. They both would. They would make it out of this and they would heal. 

 

They always did. 

 

“Ah, so bitter sweet isn’t it?” The voice was noticed before the person was. Black hair, under six feet tall, muscular. 

 

The man that Dean had spoken to. 

 

Of course Dean had filled him in on everything that had happened since he had woken up. Just as Sam did. They didn’t keep secrets. That was how they were raised. 

 

Well, mostly. 

 

But some things the other just didn’t need to know.

 

_ “Try not to ruin your pretty face today. I would hate to lose it before we get the chance to have any fun together.” _

 

Sam shivered ever so slightly. Yeah, sometimes it was better if Dean didn’t know all the details. They both needed to have a clear head. They couldn’t afford to be distracted. And rage was a big distraction to Dean Winchester, especially when it came to his baby brother.

 

The man’s eyes roamed around the cell before landing on Sam. If his eyes roamed up and down his body, Sam decided to ignore it. He needed to stay focussed. 

 

“Was one of the fan-favourites, that nest. People loved them. Oh well; such as life,” he continued as if talking about last night’s baseball game.

 

“If you loved ‘em that much maybe you shouldn’t make them fight in your sick games, you bastard!” Dean spoke. He didn’t yell, but it felt like he did. The menace in his voice was more powerful than volume. 

 

“Oh trust me, Dean, I don’t put anything I love in the ring.” He smiled and spoke as if he were talking to an endearing child who kept asking stupid questions about life that were obvious to any adult. “Do you understand why you are here now? I do-”

 

Dean cut him off. “Yeah. We are here to play some fucking game you invented to get yourself off. Next time just try viagra; I heard it can help the less fortunate.”

 

Smiles, smiles, smiles. The man was all smiles, it seemed. It pissed Dean off. The man only grew happier when Dean was angry. 

 

_ “I bet you have a lot of anger issues that I can use.” _

 

_ “I wouldn’t even be surprised if you enjoy your stay here.” _

 

“Dearest Dean. I would much prefer it if you weren’t to so rudely interrupt me again. Your actions have consequences, I’ll have you know.”

 

“Fuck you,” Dean spat. “Do your fucking worst.” It was a challenge; there was no question about it. Dean wasn’t afraid of this man. He wasn’t afraid of any man or even monster out there. There was nothing this man could do to him that would hurt him. Pain was nothing to a Winchester.

 

Pain isn’t always what one assumes, though. Pain that is expected doesn’t hurt. Dean knew that, and the man outside their cell knew that. He could see so much more that the hunter’s thought he could. He could see the way Sam stood slightly behind and to the left of Dean. The way Dean’s left hand would twitch occasionally, as if he was mentally reminding himself that Sam was there and okay. The way he would stiffen each time someone’s eyes landed on Sam. 

 

Expected pain didn’t hurt. And sometimes, pain itself didn’t hurt. And Dean would be a tough one to hurt. But he could already see the easier solution. He motioned his men over and whispered quietly in his ringmaster’s ear. Drabek nodded and opened the hunters’ cell.

 

It was a whirlwind. Let it not be said that the Winchesters don’t put up a fight though because they do. It took five guards to haul Sam out of the cell while the other five held Dean down. No guard made it out unscathed. Bruises, cuts, broken bones, sprained limbs, trouble breathing. It was a mess. But it was a necessary evil, Drabek later said. The hunters needed to be broken and broken soon. They couldn’t afford to wait until they did something horrible to break them. They needed them compliant from the very beginning so that they don’t cause any major trouble for them all.

 

Besides, it was fun to break them when they were still fighting, still so strong and determined and proud. 

 

It was so much better this way. 

 

Dean screamed obscenities, insults, and threats the whole time as they dragged a kicking and struggling Sam down the hall and out of sight. The guards purposely gripped his injured arm tightly and tore off the sling to help incapacitate the rebellious boy, gagging him before he was out of Dean’s sight to quiet down his yelling and cursing.

 

When Sam was out of sight for a few minutes, the guards let up Dean and quickly exited and locked the cell before he could do them more harm. Dean gripped the bars so tightly his knuckles were white and pressed his face up against the bars so that spit flew in the face of the leader as he spoke. 

 

“Bring him back you bastard or you will regret the day you were born!” the words were not yelled, but rather growled. Low and menacing. Threatening. Multiple of the guards repressed shivers because they could tell that this man didn’t lie when it came to his brother. 

 

“Dean,” the leader spoke calmly, “Your disrespect will get you, and your brother, nowhere good. I suggest you start to listen to me more carefully, as I will not tolerate disobedience. And Sammy will be the one to pay when you do not listen to me for now on.”

 

“What do you want from me, huh?” Dean’s voice was no longer quiet.

 

“You will fight tonight. Let us hope you do well. Whether or not your brother is returned to you any time soon will depend on it.”

 

With that, the man and the guards with him were gone. 

 

And so was Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so, SO very much to anyone who is still reading this! You literally must have the patience of a saint...
> 
> Why did I decide to alter the story? Well, like I mentioned, I kinda strayed from my initial plan and wanted to get back on track because I really liked my original plan. Also, it just feels much more plausible this way. I feel like a huge Hunger-Games-style arena really wouldn't be possible to hide...
> 
> A HUGE CRAZY BIG HUG to all who review and tell me what you think! I want the good, the bad, and the ugly!
> 
> LOVE YOU!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo lovelies!
> 
> It is I, the worst! I know... I am so bad for updates. I need to stop making promises. That is the only way for me to stop breaking them at this point. Here is an update tho!! 
> 
> I may take a small hiatus from "He Ain't Heavy" for a few weeks. I am just so stumped on that one, and I think I just need a break from trying to force it so much. This one, however, is really spinning in my head, and I am really enjoying writing it so far. Even though this one hasn't really picked up plot-wise yet. I'm getting there though; I swear it! For the first time, I am trying to take my time and try some new things with this one. Idk, I'm enjoying it and I'm excited for the chapters to come right now. For once, it is working out how I wanted it to in my head. 
> 
> Oh, and HUGE LOVE to ClaptonIsGod and elliesamanddeangirl for their constant love and support for my writing. Honestly, you guys make me so happy. It makes my whole week whenever I see your comments. So BIG THANKS to you lovelies!!
> 
> As usual, I own nothing. This is fanfiction for a reason. And that is because I don't own a single thing whatsoever. And no beta either. So yell at me and me only for mistakes. I claim them. They are mine. 
> 
> Wow, I'm hyper. That's fine. I'll just leave it there and let you get to it! 
> 
> LOVE YA!

Two guards had broken noses and one had suspiciously sore ribs after they finally managed to manhandle one Dean Winchester through the winding corridors and into a starting pen. Dean, however, was no worse for the wear. He couldn’t understand why though.

The guards didn’t dare be accused of tampering with the results of a tournament. And injuring a player? That was a sure fire way to find yourself dead. Or worse… In one of the games. 

They would be there only to have their blood shed for the entertainment of the crowds. 

The creatures were hungry for blood. And they were human. 

Better Dean than them.

They hoped he failed; then he would really learn his lesson. Then he wouldn’t think about disrespecting them again. They eagerly joined the crowds. The fighters were being introduced on the large TV screens placed around the arena. 

Dean Winchester: Hunter since he was four years old. Notorious for being ruthless when it came to putting down any creature he met. 

The wall behind Dean pressed him forwards, squished his face against the bars in front of him. He was able to see the fight ring now -- A gladiatorial entertainment centre for fucked up psychopaths. Excited screams could be heard but Dean didn’t bother looking at those who filled the arena, how they gawked at the fighters and placed last-minute wages, pointing at who they thought was going to win and lose. 

There were weapons on a rack in the centre of the ring. Dean could run for them, try and arm himself against whatever was coming. But what if they weren’t effective? How was he supposed to know how to kill his opponents?

There was a siren. It was loud enough to hurt. 

This was going to be bloody. The crowd all sat at the edge of their seats. 

Dean couldn’t remember the fight. But his body did. It ached and screamed whenever he moved. It bled when he tried to sit up. He remembered…

_ Teeth and claws and black fur. Screams and cheers and gasps. Growls and rapid movements.  _

...nothing. But he was alive and that was what mattered. 

Did he win? Did he…

_ Snarls and teeth sinking into his arm as he tried to get something -- anything -- to defend himself with. It was big and it had a damn strong jaw. Why would anything ever need that many teeth? _

...lose? 

Why did his body hurt so much?

_ Dragging it on his way to the centre of the ring. It let go when he stabbed the first thing he could grab -- a tiny dagger -- to its eye.  _

_ Were eyes actually liquid? Why did they smell so bad? Even Dean didn’t enjoy the sight of gore. But clearly the crowds did. _

He was on a bed. It was cold in the room. His arm itched something fierce. If only he could open his eyes and look at it. Scratch it. Rip it off for God’s sake!

_ Another one? _

There was constant beeping. It was pissing Dean off. If it was some kind of alarm clock he was going to salt and burn it. Couldn’t a guy get some sleep around here?

_ Not dead. The first one wasn’t even dead. And now it was angry. It may only have one eye, but it could still see Dean enough to lunge... _

What was that smell?

_...on him and bring him down to the ground.  _

_ Snap. _

_ Cracked ribs that never got the time to heal gave under the impact. Dean did not cry out. _

It took all of his strength to open one eye and Dean call out, “...ello?” as someone entered the room. 

_ How he survived was a mystery. Two black dogs. One hunter. Only five eyes.  _

_ Later four...as Dean’s right eye was too swollen to see out of. Getting literally thrown into the side of the ring will do that. _

“Don’t speak. Save your strength for now. Drink this,” said the cold voice as it poured even colder water down his throat. It…

_ Hurt. God did he ever. The crowd was going wild, spurred on by the blood. They reminded him that Sammy was on the line.  _

...felt good. Soothed his wrecked throat.

_ One went down when Dean snapped its neck. It had very, very thick bones. That one Dean could physically touch. _

“It may be excruciating now, but rest assured that you’ll live.”

The words weren’t all that comforting. 

_ The other disappeared like smoke. Like an omen of death.  _

Dean could see the clinic now. He could see the stained walls and floors, the locked cupboards and drawers, and the various medical equipment surrounding him in the same manner as a baby swaddled in blankets. He could hear the heart monitor and see the stitches holding his flesh together. He could smell the blood, his blood, as it cooled and dried on the cot beneath him. 

_ Dean wasted no time. He ran back to the centre of the ring and grabbed what had to be a silver knife.  _

_ The only other thing there were supplies to make a fire.  _

He could feel the chill temperature of the room and the doctor. He could see the icy eyes checking over his wounds. He put up no hassle. 

_ The dog appeared behind him, and it swiped its claws across his back. The knife cut through nothing but air when he thrust it through the heart of the beast. It was unharmed. It was angry. _

Dean could smell the burns on his legs. 

_ He made a fire.  _

He could feel the ache in his lungs.

_ The dog came back. It went for his throat. _

He couldn’t feel his right hand very well.

_ He grabbed one of the sticks still alight with flames and set fire to the beast.  _

He didn’t remember the fight though.

_ It made a horrible screech. Dean pushed it into the fire.  _

He had no clue how he survived.

_ It burned slowly, painfully. Dean didn’t know how to put it out of its misery.  _

But his body did. 

_ The crowd was on their feet, screaming and cheering and hollering so damn loudly.  _

His throat was raw.

_ “You think this is entertaining, you sick fucks? Don’t you know we are here against our will? We are fighting to survive! People are dying! We--ugh!” _

There were two men in the room now. And Dean didn’t hurt any less.

_ The guards that detained him were angry. Drabek was gleeful. His grin drew Dean’s attention to the gap between his front teeth. _

The leader was here. The one they still didn’t have a name for.

_ “You fucked up Dean-o!” Drabek cheered. “You fucked up big time.” _

The leader was furious. Truly furious. At least, that what Dean remembered seeing before he lost consciousness once again. When he later awoke the man was perfectly composed, so it was hard to trust his memory. 

“Dean, I’m disappointed in you. I really thought you would know better. That audience did not pay good money to be insulted in such a manner. I didn’t think I would have to explain that to you.”

Dean could hardly keep his eyes open. It took extreme determination he didn’t even know he possessed at the time to force one word through his dry, split lips. 

“Sam…”

“I already told you, Dean, that whether or not he would be returned to you depended on the outcome of this fight. Do you really think you deserve your brother back after that performance? Really, now; you cannot be serious. Let me explain to you how this is going to go…”

Dean was not fully conscious for the rest of the conversation. 

But he could remember it when he woke up. 

_ “You get Sam back the moment you learn to behave yourself.” _

He remembered what was going to happen next. 

He remembered that he won.

He remembered what he lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS FOR READING AND PLEASE COMMENT CAUSE IT MAKES ME JUMP UP AND DOWN WITH JOY WHEN I SEE THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well diddly-darn. This is just getting a heckova lot more hurt Dean than I though, isn't it?
> 
> Oh well. What do you do? My muse is steering this ship now.
> 
> Also, new title. Whatcha think? I never liked the old one, felt too corny or something. Been meaning to change it for a while and this is what I've come up with. If you have any thoughts or suggestions, plz let me know!
> 
> Now, onwards!

Dean didn’t hurt that badly and he didn’t know why. As far as he remembered, the fight had been pretty bloody. He had had some very concerning wounds. Chunks of flesh had been removed by vice-like jaws with too many teeth. Skin had melted off of bloody muscle where he had been too close to a raging fire. The hand that sparked the fire to life had been excruciatingly painful. The sight of his legs had made him gag. 

He remembered being left alone in agony. Alone with his thoughts -- with his regrets. 

Alone with the knowledge that anything that happened to Sam would be his fault. 

The pain burned and stung and stabbed but it had been welcome in a strange way. It made him feel less guilty about his fuck up. It made him feel like it was okay to mess up when you are this messed up.

Hours later, the door had opened once again.

_ “I trust you have felt enough of your punishment. Anything more may bring unwanted complications.” _

Cold eyes. Cold hands. Hot fire. His injuries were alight. The doctor had gripped them tightly in his hands and it  _ hurt.  _ It hurt more than Dean would ever admit. 

_ “It may be excruciating now, but rest assured that you’ll live.” _

He thinks he may have passed out. 

And now… Now he didn’t hurt. He ached a bit, but he didn’t hurt. His muscles and mind remembered injuries where there were none. Healthy skin covered the areas where there once were gaping wounds and blistering burns. He was fine. 

And it didn’t take long to figure out that there must be a healer on the payroll here. 

Cold eyes. Cold hands. Burning touch. 

He was fine. But he wasn’t about to thank the bastard for anything. 

“Kind of rude, you know. Punching the man who saved your life.” Hands rubbed at a red cheek and eye. Bruising had already begun. 

“What the fuck happened?” Dean groaned as he sat up despite the doctor’s attempts to keep him from doing so. 

“Your injuries were concerning. They had to be removed this time. Of course, not before you felt them for a while as punishment for your insolence. Don’t expect this to happen often. Bram usually prefers his fighters to have to push through their injuries, as he claims they are the fighter’s own fault. However, he decided to go easy on you this time, claiming your brother…” His voice drifted off as he seemed to debate how to finish his sentence. It was almost as if Cold-Eyes cared. Or maybe he just didn’t want his temper to explode once again. Eventually, however, he shook his head and continued. “Being separated was enough for now.”

Dean snorted. “How kind of him,” he muttered. But a question was burning a hole in the back of his mind. A name. Finally, a name. “Bram? He the head honcho here?” 

“Bram is in control of this facility, if that is what you mean. I believe you have met him before. He was here to speak to you earlier.” The way he spoke seemed to suggest that he was not fond of the man, but Dean really could not be sure. Everything about Cold-Eyes seemed impersonal. Perhaps it was just the way he spoke. And Dean was usually excellent at reading people. It was a big part of why he was so good at what he did. 

Cold-Eyes pushed Dean from his musings as he began to take his vitals, writing everything down in a file titled  _ D. Winchester: Hunter.  _ His work was cold and clinical; his words were delivered much the same.

“I am the medical practitioner at this facility. If you ever find yourself in need of medical attention, tell one of the guards and they will send for me to assess your injury. If, and only if, it is life-threatening, I will ask permission to heal it. Otherwise, I will do only what is permitted to ensure you are in good health for your fights. Call me Leuk.”

Dean grunted when the healer, Leuk, prodded his ribs. They were tender, but definitely not broken. It seemed the injuries of the earlier fight had been reduced to mere bruising in the time it took for him to regain consciousness. Tender, but superficial, were his remaining wounds. He was sure Leuk would write exactly that in his chart. However, Dean didn’t care for Leuk at the moment. Only one thing mattered to him. Only one thing ever mattered to him.

“Is Sam okay?”

“I am assuming that would be your brother. And I am unaware of his condition currently. My presence has not been requested and my inquiries about his current state have gone unanswered. Understand that I have about as much control here as you yourself do. I am only told what they want me to know and that is all”

“They?” Dean was starting to get the picture here. And it sucked. “You aren’t on the payroll here? You’re just another prisoner?”

Leuk stiffly nodded once. “Though I must say I prefer my own position to that of yourself. I am more useful to Bram this way. He has others to fight for him. I am here to take care of the fighters that need medical attention.”

Dean saw something then. A sliver of something, at least. It was in Leuk’s eyes. His cold, dead eyes. But it wasn’t cold, what he saw. It was weary. It was guilty. It was the eyes of a survivor. Dean knew that look. He saw that look in his father’s eyes when he thought no one was around, in his brother’s honest eyes that hid nothing, in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror behind closed doors. It was a look he knew well. It was survivor’s guilt. And it was a bitch. But it could be used. He filed it away in his mind; Leuk could be useful in the long run. 

Dean groaned as he finally sat up fully, the healer not making a move to restrain him this time.

“So what? You can’t heal injuries fully or something?” Dean complained as he lifted his t-shirt to inspect the bruising on his torso and shoulder where cuts and bites once were.

Leuk approached once again with a glass of water and wrestled Dean’s resisting fist open to place two pills in his palm. “Take these. They will help with any side-effects of the healing process.” Dean eyed the pills suspiciously before swallowing them and all the refreshing contents of the glass. Leuk watched him do so before he continued. “I heal what Bram tells me -- nothing more nor less. If you have a problem with that, feel free to take it up with him. However, I cannot guarantee your brother won’t pay for such ungrateful insolence.”

“That’s twice you’ve called me insolent there, Doc. I don’t think I like your attitude towards me. Just because I don’t roll over and bare my belly to some controlling, obsessive bastard like you do does not make  _ me  _ the disrespectful one here. And if he or anyone else lays a single hand on my little brother, I will not hesitate to turn them inside out and make sure they are alive to feel every minute of it.”

Leuk and Dean stared into one another’s eyes for a few moments before Leuk’s face changed ever so slightly. Something -- disapproval, fear, respect, sympathy, understanding -- flashed across his face before it settled into a blank expression once again. He stiffly nodded once again and Dean began to wonder if he had some kind of neck injury that caused him to move his head in such stiff, jerky movements. 

“Your ribs and shoulder are bruised but are still nothing to be concerned about. Your arms and legs have been fully restored to full strength. Any injuries your head may have sustained have been removed. I will go inform the guards that you are ready to return to your cell.”

“Wait,” Dean insisted. The healer froze before the door, right hand extended towards the door knob and turned his head slightly in Dean’s direction. He had his attention for the time being but he had to make it quick. “My brother, what will they do with him? When will I see him again?”

Leuk’s head turned away from him once again before he answered. 

“I do not know, Dean,” he spoke. 

Dean wanted to release the sob that was pressing against his chest. But he refused to do such a thing in front of the healer. 

“What do I do?” It was quiet. It was not directed at Leuk. 

Leuk knew it was not directed at him. He answered nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry.” It was also quiet. Dean didn’t know if he imagined it or not. He didn’t know if the healer would actually say that -- if he could. If he even had enough emotions to be sorry or feel that kind of empathy. He didn’t ask.

He never did find out the answer in the end too. 

Leuk opened the door and motioned for a guard. He spoke to him for a few minutes, but Dean heard nothing, though he probably could have -- probably should have. He tuned in only when he recognized the second voice. Where had he heard it? Which burly henchman was it that spoke like that, with the gap between his front teeth just big enough to make his  _ ‘s’ _ sound similar to a  _ ‘th.’”  _ He knew for sure it was an especially arrogant one. 

Drabek. 

It was Drabek. 

And he had threatened Sammy. 

And now he was handcuffing Dean’s hands behind his back. 

Now he was telling him not to struggle unless he wanted “precious Sammy” to pay for it.

So Dean let himself be shoved through various halls once again until he was back within the three walls and bars of his and Sam’s small cell. Except it was just him. And Drabek was smiling when he spoke. 

“Now I’m going to go spend some quality time with that pretty little brother of yours while I can. Don’t know when you’re gonna be gettin’ him back, after all. And I want to have as much time with him as I can.” With that, he turned on his heel and seemingly skipped away with excitement. Dean cursed him, his whole family, and all that he loved as he went. 

And Dean had another fight later that day.

He pretended it was Drabek in that ring with him. 

He pretended it was him that he shot. Pretended it was him that he shot once more for good measure. 

He ignored the crowds. Paying attention to them or anything else around him would break the fantasy. 

Would make him see who it was that he really killed in that ring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So, like. Next chapter is.... Whew. Not sure what happened there, but be ready for something HEAVY.
> 
> LOVE YOU ALL FOR READING AND COMMENTS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya!! 
> 
> I got an update for you guys because I just _needed_ to get my mind off of work... New job. Hate it. Oh hell, it is nothing but being yelled at constantly for nine hour shifts. It makes me want to curl up and die every single day. 
> 
> So yeah, lots of updates have become my coping mechanism. Your comments are one of the very few things that bring me genuine happiness, so I decided to chase that feeling by writing more. 
> 
> Down to business, this chapter is DARK. I know, the tags have probably already warned you, but I just want to be clear here. I am not sure why, but I am writing the darkest thing I have ever written here. So take heed. I don't want to spoil it, but if you have any triggers or concerns, the notes at the end will tell you exactly what happened and you can choose to read it or not or even just read the summary. 
> 
> Here it goes...

Bram could see it the moment Drabek brought the Winchesters in. He could see Drabek’s obsession in his eyes. He could tell that the younger Winchester was the recipient of his deranged affections. 

He could use this. 

There was a reason they liked to take pairs, after all. Parent and child, siblings, lovers, friends -- it didn’t matter to Bram and it never would. He always only saw opportunity. Opportunity to gain submission that much quicker. Affections were weaknesses that he could exploit for his own benefit. And the Winchesters were no different. And neither was Drabek. 

He knew he would use it. And now was the time for it. 

“Dean and Sam are to be kept apart for a while. As a reward for bringing in the hunters, I will be leaving Sam in your  _ care _ for a bit while they are separated.”

The excitement in Drabek’s eyes would be enough to scare any sane person away for good. It was petrifying how excited he could get when given the chance to cause pain. He was a sadist. And Bram liked it that way. It was how he had made him, after all. 

“However,” he interrupted before Drabek could race off. “Nothing life-threatening or severe. And he needs to be shaken. Enough to shake Dean’s stubborn bravado. I need this to break them enough to realize that they are not in control here, understood?” 

Drabek was still grinning. Bram needed to make sure he was even listening to his words.

“As you wish, boss. Broken, shaken, and out of control. Got it.” His eyes shifted to the door once more. He was almost vibrating with the urge to leave. 

“ _ And _ not overly damaged?” It was an order, and Drabek clearly saw it for what it was. 

“Yes, sir.” Drabek straightened out. Bram knew he could now trust that he understood.

“Good. Go now.” He waved his hand dismissively, but Drabek was already gone before he finished the movement. 

Bram knew that man was a psychopath. He didn’t care. He still had his uses. 

Drabek raced through the halls and rooms that separated him from his newest assignment -- his very welcome mission. 

They never really got one that pretty here before. Usually he had to settle for the ugly and weak ones, or ones that weren’t even his type. But not this time. No. 

Almost always, when they took a pair, they would single one out as the fighter and the other as the leverage. This was no different. 

Except the leverage was a fighter too. Drabek could see it. And he couldn’t wait to break it out of him. 

No physical side-effects. Nothing too damaging. 

But he needed to be shaken.

Oh, he had some plans to accomplish his orders. There was a reason he was second-in-command, after all. 

When he entered the room he was told to go to, he couldn’t contain his grin. Sam Winchester sat bound and restrained to a chair. A blindfold covered his eyes and a gag ensured he couldn’t speak. Drabek watched, pleased as the boy jumped from the sound of the door slamming behind him. 

This was going to be fun. 

He ran a hand down the boy’s chest, slapping him hard when he tried to pull away from the unwanted touch. 

“You don’t have any control here, Sam,” he spoke into the silent room. “None. It is about time you begin to understand that.”

Whatever the boy attempted to say in response was muffled by the gag tightly wound around his head. Drabek liked that. 

He kicked the chair over, listening for a cry of pain that didn’t come. 

He didn’t like that. 

But he did like the challenge. 

He picked Sam up by his upper arms and slammed him back down against the concrete floor, breaking the chair in the process. He could tell that being unable to see was upsetting the younger man. It was disorienting and easily made anyone feel vulnerable. 

That was the point. Sam Winchester was not going to be allowed to fight back this time. He had no control and he needed to understand that. He needed to understand that enough to show Dean later on.

Drabek picked Sam up by the bindings still holding his hands behind his back and ankles together like a bound hog and threw the boy face-up onto the table that lay in the centre of the room. Sam immediately tried to get off, muffled curses spilling from his lips. Drabek slapped him for his trouble. He hoped his handprint would be recognizable in the bruising. That would bother Dean so much more, wouldn’t it? He thought it might and made it a goal, slapping Sam once again for attempting to headbutt him to no avail as he draped himself over his bound body. 

“Shh. It will be so much better if you just submit, boy.”

Sam screamed behind the gag in response. Drabek licked his ear. 

“That’s it. Scream nice and loud. Loud enough that Dean will hear you. Make sure he knows that his little stunt is the reason you have to suffer now.”

Sam quietened after that. 

Drabek turned Sam onto his back in one fluid motion, earning a grunt from the beautiful boy under him. 

He was so excited for Dean to see this later. 

He pulled out a knife and ran it gently across Sam’s cheek, causing him to still. For good measure, he even nicked his bottom lip a bit, lapping at the blood that dripped from the small cut. Sam jerked and keened but it was fruitless. Without his limbs or vision or limbs to help him, he was useless. He was vulnerable. He had no control.

Sam couldn’t control his breathing. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what was going on. He wasn’t able to fight back even. It was driving him insane. Where the hell was Dean? After he was torn from Dean, he was thrown into a small room. He fought back as the guards attempted to tie him to a wooden chair. He landed multiple hits on the guys, but it only caused more to come his own way. Soon enough, he was outnumbered by six. He still managed to knock two out before he was contained and bound to the chair. 

He cursed them out, spit on one when it came too close. Then the leader of this hell-hole had come in and all the guards backed away and left. 

He cursed the bastard out for his cowardliness. For his inability to do anything but order other people to do his work for him. He cursed him. He challenged him. He insulted him. 

He was gagged in a matter of seconds. 

Then his chair was spun around, leaving Sam dizzy and out of breath. Had he had a head wound recently or something? A three-sixty should not have disoriented him that much. His thoughts vanished as he saw a screen light up. He could see Dean. He could see how bloody he was. He could see burns that would hurt for months if not leave permanent damage. Oh God, he could see  _ bone  _ in some areas! This was not good. How the hell was Dean even standing? He was going to die. This was bad. This was really bad. 

His brothers name was muffled by the gag stuffed in his mouth.

The video played on, and Sam was filled with pride as Dean called out the shits that were coming to a bloodbath to get their kicks. That was, until he saw Dean get taken down by several guards. Their fists pummeled into his already broken flesh and Dean was dragged away. A thick red trail marked his exit.

Sam hoped the sociopath in the room with him didn’t see the tears in his eyes.

“Your brother doesn’t seem to get the picture here, Sam. He is no one here. He is only what I say he is now. Just as you are what I say you are. I have a feeling you will be better at this than he will be though.”

“Fuck you. Fuck your sadistic little games, you sick sociopathic bastard,” he bit out. 

None of it reached the leader’s ears. At least, not in a way that could be understood. The gag made sure of that. 

The leader grabbed hold of his chin, forcing their eyes to meet.

“You are not in control here, Samuel. Neither you, nor Dean are, in fact. It is time the two of you start to understand this.” With that said, the screen disappeared along with the lights. A blindfold too thick for a single tendril of light to break through was wound around his head tightly. It partially covered his nose, making his breathing difficult and uncomfortable. 

Then the grip disappeared and footsteps retreated. A door opened and closed, but no light was let in. 

And Sam was alone for who knows how long before this hell began. And now he wished for the isolation that had been driving him insane to return once again.

Drabek pulled back slightly. Not enough for Sam to struggle any more than before, but enough that he could lean back and slide the knife through his shirt. He laughed as Sam’s movements became more frantic and panicked. 

Sam couldn’t breathe now. Drabek’s weight was off of his chest but it only made it worse for his lungs, it seemed. What the hell was going on? This couldn’t be real. Any moment now, Dean was going to burst in…

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Because they weren’t in control here. 

Oh God.

Maybe this was just about making him vulnerable, he thought as the knife sliced through his pants and boxers. Maybe this was just a message. Nothing was going to happen. Nothing was going to happen.

The fabric was tossed to the side, leaving Sam cold with no barrier between him and the unforgiving metal table. Leaving him with no barrier to protect him from the unforgiving lust in Drabek’s eyes. 

He could feel both of these things now.

“Shh. Hold still.”

Sam was not about to hold fucking still, thank you very fucking much. 

A slap on his ass startled him. 

Did he just get… spanked?

“I said to hold still, bitch.”

Sam kept struggling. Drabek kept slapping. 

Sam finally held still. Humiliation caused his face to burn and tears to wet the blindfold over his face. 

Oh God, Dean could never know about this.

This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. 

“Tell you what, pretty,” Drabek whispered sensuously into his ear, his body now blanketing Sam’s once again -- the rough denim of the man’s pants chafing Sam’s sore ass. “If you do as I say, listen to my every command, I won’t penetrate you. Sounds like a fair deal, doesn’t it?”

Sam sobbed into the gag. He was drained and scared. He had never felt this helpless before. 

“Let’s start, shall we?”

Tears poured from Sam’s eyes freely now. 

Oh God, this was happening. This was real. 

“Hold still. Do. Not. Move. Understood?”

Sam’s breathing was laboured. He was going to hyperventilate. His vision greyed... 

Another slap to his ass brought him back to reality once again. 

“Answer me, bitch! Do. You. Understand?” Each word was punctuated by another spank.

Sam nodded his head up and down with vigor, the sobs escaping him mercifully muffled by the gag. Oh God this needed to stop. Dean needed to come in right now and make this stop. He needed to fix Sam. 

He needed to never find out about this. 

Drabek’s jeans opened and Sam whimpered. 

“Don’t you dare think about moving, pretty,” Drabek growled. “If you do, I will shove my entire fist up your ass, and I am not lying.”

Sam had a feeling that he was telling the truth. 

He held still. 

His shakes and sobs were the only movement made. And even that was not intentional, and he tried to fight against it.

Drabek ceased his slaps and climbed back on top of his bound body. Sam could feel him. Could  _ feel him _ . He was hard and weeping and rutting up and down on top of Sam. Humping his unwilling body mercilessly. 

Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. 

“No. Please. Please stop.” 

Sam didn’t know if it was a kindness that his begging could not be understood due to the gag. He really didn’t know.

He let his mind wander a bit, but he kept being brought back by loud grunts and harsh friction. 

He couldn’t help but compare the man to an animal; he was seemingly completely driven by some sick desires with no concept of human decency, after all. 

He humped him like an animal too. 

The skin on Sam’s thighs, his ass, and his lower back began to burn and chafe. Sam held in his pathetic whimpers in as long as he could until he was sure some of his skin chafed right off and blood slicked the way a bit. 

But he kept holding still. And Drabek stayed true to their deal.

Yet, Sam didn’t mistake that for any sort of control on his part. No. This was a show of power. And both of them knew who had all of the power here. 

Grunts of pleasure made Sam feel ill. Made the blindfold wetter against his face with tears and snot. Made raw sounds of helplessness escape his bound and bleeding lips.

Drabek rutted against him for what felt like hours before he finally came. He made sure to coat Sam with his seed. 

Marking him. Claiming him.

God he might as well have just pissed on him like a dog marking what was theirs. 

Sam retched. He was turned onto his back then. 

He was choking on his own vomit now, and Drabek was just watching it happen. Sam panicked as he started losing consciousness and tried to turn his head, but Drabek held him still. His eyes rolled back. And only then did Drabek use the knife to slice the gag off before shoving Sam to the floor. The impact made him cry out in pain, causing the bile to shoot out of his stomach, which was now cramping and spasming in agony. Tears poured down his cheeks. He still couldn’t see. 

That was worse. Because it meant he could hear. And he could smell. 

And he didn’t want either of those things. 

Laughter, humiliation, and the rancid smell of sweat and sex filled the room around him. The gap between the man’s teeth made his laughter sound odd. Off in a way. It unnerved Sam and he shivered at the sound. It felt like it was penetrating his spine along with the eyes he could feel on his skin.

Dean could  _ never  _ know. 

He was now lying in his own bile and there was nothing he could do about it the way he was bound. He didn’t know if he would have been able to convince himself to move even if he wasn’t restricted though.

Sam couldn’t see. His head was pounding from the impact of being tossed to the floor. He could only hear his own heart racing at this point. All he could smell was bile and rape. 

Rape. 

Oh God he had been raped. 

No. No, he hadn’t. Because he wasn’t even penetrated. He was being unreasonable. People who were actually raped would probably hate him for daring to consider himself a victim for even a moment. 

No. He was fine. He was just being a self-absorbed, self-pitying, sick, disgusting… 

He didn’t even have a word for what he was. 

_ Tainted. _

He just needed to get clean. And to stop crying. Why was he crying so much? Harsh sobs ripped from his chest despite his thoughts. He wasn’t in control of his own body, it seemed. 

He wasn’t in control of anything, it seemed. 

Because he couldn’t even move. Couldn’t even roll away from his own sick. 

So he just lay there in misery. 

Until Drabek came back -- When did he leave? Why hadn’t Sam noticed? How long had it been? How had he fallen asleep? He could have drowned in his own bile for God’s sake! 

It would have been a fittingly pathetic death for him, he figured. 

He was thrown over a large shoulder in a fireman’s carry. 

Sam did kick. He  _ did _ . 

But it was useless.  _ He  _ was useless -- as usual, it seemed. 

He was thrown into something small and cold and… possibly ceramic? 

The hell? 

The blindfold was ripped off. As he blinked to try and clear his vision and adjust to the too-bright lighting, his hands were then also untied. He started to struggle, started to search for something to hit. Something to punish for his humiliation and failures. 

Maybe he should have just punched himself, he mused. It would have probably been more effective anyhow, seeing as his weak, shaky punches never made any contact anyhow. 

Freezing water pounded against his body suddenly. He squirmed and crawled to try to escape the spray but he couldn’t seem to. Something was thrown at his chest and a door was firmly shut and locked. 

“Wash up while you can. If you ain’t finished when I come back to get you, you won’t be given any extra time.”

Sam shivered and blinked his vision somewhat clear. There was a bar of soap and a small, stained washcloth with him under the spray. They were probably what was thrown at him, he mused. The water poured from the ceiling and there was no escaping it in the small, two-by-two shower and cage all-in-one. He tore the gag from his mouth and removed the bindings from his ankles. 

And then he scrubbed.

The water seemed to go from freezing to burning and then back to freezing every minute or so. 

But Sam didn’t even care. He set his mind to one thing. Clean the taint away. Get it off. 

_ Get it off. Get it off. Get it off. Get it off. Get it off. Get it off. Get it off. Get it off. Get it off. Get it off. _

Drabek was back in about fifteen minutes. The water shut off and Sam was given a small, scratchy towel. It was worse than even the motel ones he had grown up with, and that was saying something. 

He remembered that he and Jess had bought some really nice, soft ones when they had picked out their apartment together. 

Something hit his face, breaking him from his thoughts. It was a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. 

He wasted no time dressing. 

“Underwear?” he inquired, still shivering from the shower. 

From the shower. Nothing else.  _ Nothing else. Nothing happened. _

Drabek laughed. “Hey, if you want ‘em go ahead.” And a pair was tossed his way. They burned his chafed and red ass and Sam understood what he meant now.

But he was still a Winchester. So damn the pain, he put them on. 

And then he was handcuffed once again. But Sam made sure Drabek was not met with any compliance. 

Sam shifted his weight and then used it all for momentum, surprising the larger man with the harsh impact of an elbow to his face. He spit in the henchman’s face when he slapped him in return.

It accomplished nothing, but the message was clear:

There was no way in hell he was done fighting yet.

Drabek smiled in anticipation at the sight of the bound man in front of him. His bravado was opposed by his trembling body.

He was going to break this boy. Of that, he had no doubt. 

He just had to take his time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUMMARY: Sam is gagged by Bram and shown a highly injured Dean calling out the crowd before being taken away. Bram decides to use Drabek's new obsession with Sam to his own advantage and tells him to show Sam that he has no control so that he will break Dean down himself after. Drabek binds, blindfolds, and gags Sam. He beats him up a bit and cuts off his clothes. He then rubs himself off on Sam's unwilling body. He allows Sam to take a shower afterwards and Sam elbows Drabek in the face when he tries to bind him once again after his shower. 
> 
> Comments are love!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya friends! 
> 
> So sorry for not updating in such a long time... Imma be honest with you: I kind of just gave up a bit. I just lost a lot of confidence in this story and I just kinda left it. 
> 
> But nevertheless, I am not giving up! And that is due to ClaptonIsGod and elliesamanddeangirl, who I am dedicating this chapter to. Your wonderful nagging has forced me to keep going and not give up. 
> 
> So here it is. I don't really know how to feel about it. I just think it is kind of... meh, honestly. 
> 
> Thoughts are really appreciated!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“I’ll make you a deal, Dean.”

Dean was ripped from his cautious dozing by the quiet, yet firm, voice. He was on his feet in less than a second, facing the hard, oddly rat-like features of Bram. It wasn’t that the man was ugly in any sense of the word, as much as Dean knew he was on the inside. He had a pointy nose that might have been a bit longer than usual, but Dean didn’t really know. He had short dark hair and was fairly average in height, though much shorter than Sam or even himself. Honestly, his features weren’t all that unappealing from a impersonal vantage.

But his eyes… He had very sharp eyes. Almond shaped, dark and bright at the same time. Narrowed almost constantly. 

Dean wondered if the man might be something supernatural himself. His eyes were just so… intense. Intimidating in a way Dean wasn’t used to.

“You do me a favour, I’ll bring your brother back to you.”

“What do you want, you bastard?” Dean wasn’t going to play his games, but he was desperate to see Sam again, to make sure he was okay. It didn’t mean he was going to act like he was thrilled to be doing anything for him though. 

“You lose the next fight, and I’ll bring your brother back to you. And don’t even think about losing easily. I’m expecting a fight still, obviously. And you will not escape without injury unless you want your reunion with Samuel to be next month or so. It is really up to you.”

“You’re sick, you know that? Get your jollies doing this? Regular porn not enough for you or something? I can make some suggestions if you want. Might be easier than, you know,  _ this _ .” Dean gestured at the bars in front of him. His voice wasn’t raised, but it was still said with enough vehemence to have the same impact as screaming the words.

Bram hummed in thought for a moment, raising an eyebrow as he did so. 

“You have quite a mouth on you, don’t you? Like I said before, I’m not a fan of hearing you talk back. I highly recommend, for you and your brother’s sake, that you make more of an effort to please me right now, Dean. Otherwise, I will be forced to find other ways to use you and your brother.”

He walked closer to the cage that held Dean. If he dared, Dean could easily have touched him without even reaching. All he would have to do is raise his arm. But, so long as Sam was not by his side, Dean would be playing this as safe as possible. 

“I have no interest in pretending that anything I do is for your benefit, Dean. I am doing this for my own benefit and the benefit of others. I have contained and tamed many creatures -- creatures that otherwise would be killing innocent human beings daily. So yes, some of what I do is good. I also provide many things for people who have no other place to go for this in a controlled and fairly legal manner. So I am not totally a bad guy. I still will take care of you, your brother, and all my other fighters and servants. I could be a lot worse, Dean, so you should be thankful that I am not. I have no remorse, however. And if I need to be worse in order for you to see your place, I will do so without hesitation. But I will try to be as good to you as I can be. If you do as I say, I will make your life very comfortable. So do try and make an effort too, Dean.”

And this man said Dean talked too much? It was obvious the man was deranged. This was a human monster; that much was obvious.

Sociopath. Superiority complex. Compulsion to control others. 

Dean took mental notes. Research was always necessary when it came to hunting and killing monsters. But Sammy was always better at that than him. Maybe Sam would have some more specific observations for him later. They needed each other to complete a hunt with this many complications and unknown variables. And even though it wasn’t usually his forte, he was sure as hell going to hunt this monster down.

They were the best hunting team in history. They could do this. 

Saving people, hunting things -- the family business.

“What am I fighting?”

He could do this for now. This wasn’t submission; this was survival. 

The man tutted as a nanny would to a disobedient child. It aggravated Dean in a way he hadn’t really felt up until now. It made him feel helpless.

“Now telling you that would be cheating, Dean. And I do not intend on doing that anytime soon. It just wouldn’t be fair.” He shook his head and began walking away then. “See you at the fight later.”

And then he was gone once again. And Dean could still do nothing. 

Nothing but what they…  _ he  _ wanted.

Nothing but gather information and wait for his opportunity to strike.

* * *

 

The arena seemed oddly quiet to Dean. But maybe he had just been too scatter-minded before and had simply imagined it was louder. It certainly felt louder before. Maybe he was already adjusting to it -- already adjusting to putting on a show for a crowd of sick bastards. 

Dean Winchester did not like being a puppet. Yet here he was, being pushed into a ring with the goal of losing and making it look good just because his puppeteer told him to. 

No, this was for Sam, not Bram. He had to do this to keep Sam safe. 

God, what was there life? And when did it get so fucked up?

Dean was torn from his thoughts as the wall behind him made a loud  _ clunk  _ as it finished pressing him into the arena. 

Two more  _ clunks _ could be heard as well. 

Two opponents again. Two people to lose to. Did he have to get second or third? What the hell? He should have been told specifically! They were just setting him up for failure.

This was all a game to them. Dean got it now. This was fun for them. They were enjoying trying to break them. And Dean would have none of it.

He would go down first. And he would make it pretty. That was what he was told to do. Lose. And lose did not mean second place. This wasn’t about winning; it was about surviving. 

While Dean had been trying to come to a conclusion about when he should go down, one of his opponents zipped to the middle of the arena and armed itself. But it moved too fast for Dean to even get a real glimpse at it. 

He needed to go down to them though, Dean reminded himself. His instincts screamed in opposition. Winchesters didn’t lose on purpose. Winchester could take down anyone and anything. He needed to be strong. 

He needed to lose though. He had to keep reminding himself of that, his survival instincts still causing him to analyze ways in which he could escape this unharmed. 

Then he saw his second opponent. This one was unarmed still, but clearly ready for a fight. He was tall, but lean. He had long scraggly hair that hung in his eyes. 

Sam. Oh no. 

Sam seemed to be thinking the same thing right then. He made eye contact with Dean and his face filled with shock and panic as he immediately attempted to run to Dean. 

He didn’t make it though. 

Dean wasn’t sure why at first. One moment Sam was there, running towards him. The next, he was just gone. And nothing was there. 

But something was on the edge of the ring now. Dean began to cautiously make his way to the weapons in the centre, grasping around behind him while paying close attention to anything trying to sneak up on him. He hissed as his finger was sliced open by something sharp and felt the object for a handle to grip. It was a curved blade about ten inches in length. It would do nicely. He took a quick look, but there was nothing else left. No guns or knives or anything.

Good. 

The knife he had gotten had been lower, slightly hidden by the rack. It was honestly pure luck that he had found it, since he hadn’t even been looking. If he would have been, he would have assumed nothing was left.

Whatever else was in here probably had whatever other weapons previously available. Dean didn’t like that fact.

He raised his knife and got in a fighting stance as he saw movement from the far corner, where he had observed something unknown was residing. 

It was Sam. 

Sam was bleeding. He had a long cut down the side of his chest. 

Sam was running towards him.

“Dean, it’s a shifter!”

And then another Sam was coming towards him from the same spot. 

“Don’t listen to it, Dean; It’s not me!”

Oh hell. 

They both had bruised cheeks. Like they had been slapped recently. But only one had the cut on his chest. Dean didn’t know which one had the knife that caused. He had a feeling it was the metaphorical smoking gun right now.

“Sam, toss me your knife!” 

Both looked at him like they were unsure what he was asking. 

One more mistrusting. The other just confused. 

Well fuck. That didn’t really tell him anything. Honestly, he didn’t really know what he expected. At least he had an idea which of them had the knife. And it was the Sam closest to himself, the one that had spoken first. The one with the cut. 

Wait… What? That didn’t make sense. Why would the one with the cut have the knife? Maybe it got the knife from the other Sam after it attacked him… But that wouldn’t explain why the other Sam didn’t seem to have a sweet clue what knife he was talking about. That Sam would have shouted that the other Sam had the knife if he had it stolen…

Now this was just getting confusing. Dean fucking hated shifters. They made things so difficult -- so dangerous. One wrong move could cost him his baby brother. 

But the only one with a weapon was the one that was injured… And that made very little sense. 

Unless it was a shifter trying to trigger Dean’s protective tendencies, trying to seem weaker, injured. Trying to seem like it was the one who was being attacked. Dean went towards that Sam first. He made sure to keep his own small blade hidden in the waistband of his jeans.

“Give me the knife, Sam. I’ll take care of it.”

“No. I think-” he looked deeply into Dean’s eyes. “Are you sure you wanna do it? It does look like me…”

“Give me the knife, Sam. There sure isn’t any way in hell I’m letting you do it.”

Dean walked closer to Sam. It had to be the shifter. This one had to be it. 

“Give me the knife, Sam. I’ll take care of it.”

The other Sam was struggling to his feet. 

“Dean,” he called. There was panic in his eyes. 

Wait. What the hell? Why would either the shifter or Sam want him to spare the other? 

“Dean!”

The other Sam handed Dean his knife. 

Dean had the only available weaponry now. He had a major advantage either way.

Wait… what the hell was he doing? He was supposed to lose!

But how could he do that and protect his baby brother at the same time?

“Dean, wait!”

The once downed Sam tackled him to the ground. The one he had earlier been positive was the shifter tried to help him get the other Sam off of him. 

Man, he had no clue what was going on or what to do now. Come on!

He felt a punch to the gut. Then one to the chin. 

He wanted to fight back. 

But he had to lose. 

So he did his very best impression of a good fighter being outplayed. 

He really could have easily overpowered his opponent if he wanted to.

Fuck. Why was his opponent making this so difficult to fake?

But then Dean started listening. And the grunts weren’t just grunts of exertion or pain from Dean’s returning punches and maneuvers. 

Some of them were words.

“I have to lose, Dean. It will be better for you if it does it for you.”

Fuck.


	9. Chapter 9

_ “I have to lose, Dean. It will be better for you if it does it for you.” _

_ Fuck. _

* * *

 

The words were so quiet. So careful. They couldn’t afford to be caught right now. They needed a break. They needed to make it through this with their kidnappers pleased and their bodies in tact. 

“I need either the shifter or you to take me down.”

“I need to lose too, Sam.”

“Fuck.”

And that just about summed it up. 

“This is going to seem fake real soon. Kick me off. Make it good; I can handle it.”

And Dean did exactly that. Sam was pushed back a few feet from him now and Dean stood up quickly, brandishing the knife he had gotten from the shifter. 

Ha! He had been right. How he couldn’t wait to tell Sam. He fucking knew it!

The shifter kicked Sam in the side to keep him down. 

“Dean, give me the knife,” it commanded, now keeping Sam pinned down with it’s own form.

“Sam! Knock it out; this knife isn’t silver!” he lied. 

Well, kind of. The knife he had gotten from the shifter itself actually  _ wasn’t  _ silver. The shifter had been able to hold it without any reaction. So no, the knife wasn’t silver. However, the other knife -- the one Dean had hidden -- was definitely silver. Dean could tell by the weight of it. He had held enough silver weapons in his life to be able to tell one apart from an ordinary knife. 

He could use that knife to kill it so quickly, it wouldn’t even know what hit it. It probably wouldn’t even feel a thing.

But they had to lose. 

How on earth were they both going to lose to this thing? Only one of them could go down first. It was impossible. 

Sam would have to go down first. Dean would make sure it was quick and as painless as possible. He couldn’t afford for Sam to be the focus of Bram’s anger should he chose to punish them for failing to fulfil their impossible orders.

He would go down after Sam. And he would make it real pretty. Maybe then Bram wouldn’t have anything to complain about. 

The crowd wanted blood? Well then he was going to fucking give it to them. First his, then he would drain theirs in return later on. Eye for an eye. He was going to kill every single motherfucker in here when he got free.

They were humans. But they were monsters. And Dean didn’t spare any monster that killed innocent people.

Sam would probably beg him not to do it though. He would tell him that yes, they didn’t deserve any mercy, but that Dean also didn’t deserve the stain of their blood on his hands. 

Dean wondered vaguely if human blood would feel different than that of a monster.

Well, to be honest, he knew it didn’t. Not when they too were monsters. He didn’t feel anything when he thought about the Benders. Just as he didn’t feel anything when he thought about the shtriga they took down a few weeks later. Evil needed to be destroyed. And if no one else would do it -- if everyone else were bound by morals and societal constrictions and politics -- then he sure as hell would. 

So yeah. Maybe, just maybe, if Sam was convincing enough, he would call the cops on their asses first. Then, though, if the suits and blue-shirts with their shiny broches let any of them off… 

Then he would have to go hunting down some evil once again. 

A loud  _ crack _ aggressively broke him from his thoughts. He was too far into the future. He needed to get his head into the game  _ now _ . John had taught him better than that. 

_ “Never, ever, let your mind wander on a hunt. I don’t fucking care if you like planning things out. If you ever find yourself in a deadly situation without a prepared plan, then you better fucking live in the moment and survive. Surviving means staying in the now. Not the past; not the future. Regrets aren’t gonna do you jack shit and plans for later ain’t either -- you think about what to do now and no further. Then repeat. Now. Now. Now.” _

Now. He had to stay in the now. 

Why was that so difficult? He never had a problem with it before. It was Sam who always wanted to research and follow-up painfully thoroughly before and after each hunt. It was Dean that would go in gun blazing, not knowing what he was up against exactly but hoping that concentrated iron rounds and holy water would kill it. 

_ Kill it _ , his mind screamed when he saw what the source of the sound was. The thing was off of his brother now. His brother had a bleeding head wound and wasn’t moving.

_“Head wounds bleed more than necessary. Don’t be alarmed by the blood, Dean,”_ _his father told him as he stitched his little brother up after he had fallen off of his bike._

Distantly, he heard a mix of cheering a booing all jumbled and intertwined to make a chaotic mess of noise. He didn’t listen to it though, just heard it. Noted it and let it fade to focus on other sounds and senses. 

He needed to survive. He wanted to kill. 

He needed to make this look good. 

Sammy was safe now. As safe as he could be. He lost. He did what he was told to do. They couldn’t punish Sam. 

And Dean was going to make second place look as much like losing as he possibly could. He was going to make sure they didn’t have a reason to punish him either.

“Sure, the knife isn’t silver, but it still might be effective in slowing  _ this thing _ ,” the shifter kicked Sam in the stomach to emphasize his words, ”down until we think of something else.” 

Dean lunged at the thing with the steel knife in his hand, purposely yelling in exaggeration to alert the shifter of his imminent attack.

The thing was taken by surprise though. It really seemed to think that it had Dean fooled, didn’t it?

Dean grazed it with the knife. It hissed slightly in pain and stumbled back quickly. 

And Dean started to have doubts again. This wasn’t Sam, right? This wasn’t his Sam… Sam was on the ground, unconscious right now. Sam wouldn’t have kicked something when it was down. Sam wasn’t like that. Sam was too emo and touchy-feely and empathetic for that crap. 

This had to be the shifter, right?

Then again, Dean didn’t think he was the type to want to violently kill a whole crowd of human beings either… Sometimes trauma like this did things to you… 

The Sam that was still standing lunged at him unexpectedly. It was like a complete shift came about him, no pun intended. One moment he looked wounded and scared and so much like his Sammy -- hurt like his Sammy looked when someone betrayed him.

Then suddenly he was a predator that was being challenged, an animal fighting for it’s territory. 

It’s skin fell off as it ran. 

This shifter was nothing like the one back in St. Louis. There was no screaming or sloughing off skin. There was no long drawn out shifting process. Sam was just there, running towards Dean with anger written across his features, and then Sam was gone. 

Skin was shed like a coat. Ripped off spider-man style. Bones cracked into place without delay. In less than a second, Sam had become larger, broader, more muscular -- which was saying something cause the kid may be lean, but he was all muscle these days. In less than a second though, the thing became someone else, someone Dean had never seen before nor would he ever most likely. It was just another form. This one different, less familiar. This one was one he hadn’t trained with or fought before.

This one was fucking huge. 

Vaguely, Dean wondered what it would feel like if he ever saw this man walking down the street one day in the future. He wondered how it would feel to meet the real him after fighting a shifter that looked just like him. He wondered if he was a decent guy, someone Dean could grab a beer with and play some pool without the urge to hustle him. 

But for now he just focussed on the fact that the large gash on the things arm that Dean had just made and the one on his chest that was most likely self-inflicted were both gone now. Gone with Sam’s form. 

Hopefully this thing wouldn’t make it too hard to lose to then. 

Dean let it lunge at him, making only an, intentionally failed, attempt to dodge it. The blow winded him well; that much was real. So were the follow-up punches the thing landed all over his torso and face. 

But that was not gonna sell it. Dean was not going to fuck this up. He had one chance to get Sam back by his side, safe and in his protective line of sight. He had one chance to get some semblance of control back.

He decked the thing  _ hard _ . He felt a tooth knocked loose through the thing’s freaking cheek and blood spurted from his now split lip. The blood landed on Dean’s face. In his eyes. Fuck. He reached up to rub it out as best he could. 

The shifter picked Dean up by the front of his green t-shirt and threw him to the ground once again. Dean was actually pretty impressed at the air time the thing got him too. He landed about four or five feet away from the thing’s towering form. 

His ribs were definitely not pleased though. Nor his throbbing right shoulder that took the brunt of the impact. 

He got right back on his feet though. That was the Winchester way.

He looked around and saw the steel knife was still where it had landed earlier when he had originally been knocked down by the lunging giant of a shifter. However, said shifter was a damn lot closer to it than Dean now. And it seemed to track Dean’s eyes right to it. 

Fucking great. A knife. Really? That was not going to make the whole surviving-yet-losing thing very easy. Fucking great.

He started to run for the knife half a second faster than the shifter did though. And they both landed in a heap in their mutual attempt to grab it at the same time. 

Dean got it first. 

Dean thrust the steel into the thing’s stomach. 

It cried out, and blood bubbled from it’s mouth.

It fell. It was still. 

Dean knew it wasn’t dead. Dean knew that knife wasn’t silver. 

Dean pretended that he didn’t know either of these things and stood up and began walking back to Sam. He checked his pulse. He was alive. He was alive and breathing and a little worse for the wear and going to survive. 

He threw the knife far away to the side of the arena and nodded to the roaring crowds in fake acknowledgement. He didn’t give a shit about them. He didn’t give a shit about winning even if he actually did believe that he had won. 

He walked towards the pen he had started in. At least, he thought it was the one he had started in. It was kinda hard to tell, what with them being identical, the arena being round, and the fact that he was fairly disoriented from the fight.

The thing was quiet, Dean would give it that much. It thought he couldn’t hear it. But he could. He could hear the wet sound of flesh being removed and wounds along with it. But he couldn’t pretend he didn’t hear the sounds of bones shifting and the crowd gasping at the suspense. 

He turned and saw the thing was now standing and wearing a new form. 

Dean’s grin faded, and he saw red.

It was Drabek. 

Every part of Dean screamed at him to kill it, but he fought against the urge. He took up a fighting stance and let the thing come at him, let it’s weight and force hit into him but stayed on his feet. 

He let the fight get dirty. He fought back too. And he didn’t hold back this time. He let punches fly like he was trying to win. He made it look good. 

It hurt like hell, but he made it look good. 

He got up over and over again, and he kept fighting. 

He broke it’s nose, and he broke it’s ribs. 

It broke his nose and ribs too. 

He beat the shit out of it. Sat on it’s chest and pummeled it’s face in. 

He let it use leverage that he had allowed it to have to flip them over and begin the fighting again. 

He was in control. This was his choice. He was in control here. 

He let the fight get more complex, brought in more complex maneuvers. The crowd was cheering for him now. He was killing it. People wanted him to win.

He threw a hard punch to the thing’s sternum, followed by one to the gut. Than an undercut to the jaw. It was tipsy at that point and if Dean were going for the kill, he would knock it to the ground. 

Ordinarily, he would have gone for the legs. They were the most vulnerable right then. The thing was overly protective of his face and torso now from the previous punches, and attacking his legs would be a sure way to bring him down and end this.

Dean went for the head. Went for the killing blow. 

His fist was grasped in huge hands and twisted behind his back. His other hand was grabbed when he tried to get a retaliating punch in to loosen the grip. He made an attempt to kick, just for good appearance, and then his knees were kicked harshly from behind and they gave out under the weight and pressure being put on them by his opponent.

Bloody lips were close to him now. He was held immobile in the thing’s grip. He even went as far as the legitimately struggle against it now, knowing he had allowed it to get him into a position that he would not be able to get out of.

“Your brother felt good, by the way. But this… This might feel even better.”

And then it shifted it’s weight and popped one of Dean’s shoulders out of its socket. 

Dean cried out in pain and surprise at the jolting pain that ran through his right side from the action, and the crowd just loved it. The thing -- still holding Dean’s back to his chest -- let go of his right wrist, knowing he wouldn’t have much movement in it now that the shoulder was dislocated. Instead, the shifter used his, now free, arm to rain punches down on Dean’s kidneys. 

It was wrong about one thing though. Winchesters have, can, and will use a limb despite joints being out of socket. 

Dean threw his head back and headbutted the thing holding him from behind. Already broken cartilage ground together. The bastard’s nose must hurt like a mother fucker by now, Dean mused. He followed up by twisting around and landing a solid punch to the thing’s temple. 

It looked like it was going to go down. It was leaning over, supporting itself with it’s hands on its knees. 

Dean began to panic.

What had he done? What had he done? He had to lose!

He was going to win… 

_ Fuck! _

Then the thing swept Dean’s legs out from under him and he went crashing down. He felt his ass make contact with the hard packed dirt ground. He felt his shoulder screaming in pain from the drop and he grabbed it with his left hand and winced at the agony. He pretended to be caught up in his own pain. 

He felt the solid kick to the ribs cause a few more to crack once again. 

Damn it; he just had those fixed! What was the point in fixing him even if they were just going to send him out to lose the next fight?

He felt the final blow to the head. He felt how the thing that looked too much like Drabek used all of it’s weight in that last solid hit. 

Good. There was probably a concussion in his near future. If he survived this, that is. A good blow to the head can easily kill a man, and Dean was just that: a man.

He felt his head smack back against the floor in response to the punishing blow. 

Then he felt nothing. 

It was starting to get exhausting, ending his days like this.

But he would do it all and more for Sam. 

Besides, he had been the one in control the whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated! I'll take the good, the bad, and the ugly!


End file.
